


My Favorite Drinking Buddy

by SamSnak



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Male Slash, Rough Sex, Sad, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamSnak/pseuds/SamSnak
Summary: Set during ME2, post Horizon.They sit in silence for a few long moments. He wants to be alone—actually, that’s not true, but the man he really wants is entire star systems away and doesn’t want anything to do with him—but Zaeed is the next best thing. He doesn’t expect conversation or ask him what’s wrong, and he doesn’t judge him or make a joke about his overtaxed liver and pancreas when he pours himself another shot.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Past Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Zaeed Massani/Male Shepard, Zaeed Massani/Shepard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	My Favorite Drinking Buddy

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for (consensual) sex after alcohol use

It’s a few earth days after Horizon, and Shepard can’t sleep. He knows that he needs to. He knows that in just a few hours he’ll have some new psychological horror show to deal with. More fires to put out. Someone else will need something. 

But sleep eludes him. He gets up, pulls on his clothes, and steps over to the elevator to ride down to the lounge. He’s always struggled with insomnia. His mind keeps him awake with feelings of inadequacy, a nasty voice deep down always telling him that he’s not good enough to be where he is. Normally, it shuts up if he drinks enough, and that’s his plan tonight. 

Kaidan never said anything, but he was always worried that Shepard drank too much. On those long nights when he’d spend hours chasing sleep, Kaidan would try to coax him away from liquor and back into bed with the promise of a blowjob. It didn’t help him sleep much better, but it filled the aching maw of blackness, Kaidan’s presence and warm smile a temporary bright light burning the shadows away.

He’s on his own now, there’s no more promises of devotion muttered in a husky voice. He’s alone in the lounge of the ship, so he fills himself up a glass of vodka—cheap shit, because he’s been drinking a lot of it, lately—and throws it back. It’s nasty, and it fights his throat to go down. He’s never liked the taste of alcohol much, even the good stuff, but the numbness is comforting. Once it’s settled safely in his stomach and he’s reasonably sure it won’t make a reappearance, he pours himself another shot.

He's getting ready to tuck away his final drink and head back to bed when the door to the lounge whooshes open. He doesn’t look to see who it is, hoping that if he ignores them, they’ll take the hint and leave him alone. It seems his luck’s not in, tonight. The scent of cigars and hot spice invades his space as the stool next to him is pulled out.

“Can’t sleep, Shepard?”

He grunts a response, pushing the bottle and the glass over to Zaeed in offering. He accepts and throws back his own shot, moaning his displeasure as it goes down, “I can’t believe you’re drinking this swill voluntarily.”

“Gets you drunk,” he says simply. 

“It does,” Zaeed agrees. They sit in silence for a few long moments. He wants to be alone—actually, that’s not true, but the man he really wants is entire star systems away and doesn’t want anything to do with him—but Zaeed is the next best thing. He doesn’t expect conversation or ask him what’s wrong, and he doesn’t judge him or make a joke about his overtaxed liver and pancreas when he pours himself another shot. 

Zaeed’s tapping, thrumming his fingers along the rim of the glass, seeming to consider whether or not he wants to drink more. Finally, he stands and says, “I have good whiskey in my cabin,” and walks towards the door to leave. It’s an invitation, clearly, but Shepard can’t decide whether or not he still wants to be alone. It’s more instinct than anything, the fear of missing out on an opportunity that might expire, but he follows him. 

There’s not a lot of seating options in Zaeed’s cabin, they both realize belatedly. Shepard sits on the stool in front of the weapon bench, careful not to disturb Jesse, because sitting on the small cot seemed like it would be the wrong choice. 

Zaeed digs in his belongings, moving things around to reveal a well-hidden bottle of whiskey and a few glasses. Shepard probably shouldn’t drink anymore, he does have to be awake in a few more hours, but it feels rude to refuse the glass that’s pressed into his hand. He’s grateful for the company, now. Getting drunk with another sentient being is less sad than doing it alone. Zaeed leans against the gun bench, watching him intently.

It  _ is  _ good whiskey. He’s not too much of a drunken lout to mistake quality, “This is nice,” he nods to his glass. 

“Better than the piss water you were drinking,” he tells him before falling silent. Shepard is equal parts relieved and disappointed that Zaeed doesn’t have a story to tell about stealing this liquor from a warlord or something. 

Maybe he does, and he’s just cutting him a break. Shepard’s eyelids are getting heavier and he rubs at them. Zaeed notices, “Getting tired?” he laughs.

Shepard snorts, and smiles back sleepily, “Thanks for the drink,” he moves to stand, a little less steady on his feet than earlier. Suddenly, Zaeed steps forward, invading his space, and a large, warm hand covers his crotch.

He’s suddenly not so sleepy anymore.

He stares at Zaeed, his eyes unwavering from his face. The older man presses, not quite rubbing, and not quite giving him the friction he’d want, just feeling the line of his cock through the thin fabric as it grows in his palm. 

“You gonna do something with that hand?” Shepard asks him.

He’s still for a moment, eyes roaming over Shepard’s face with a slight grin on his lips, before he grabs him, grabs his entire body, and brings them together in a bruising kiss. The taste of liquor is heavy against his tongue, and he gets another, stronger, whiff of cigars off Zaeed’s skin. The man’s lips are chapped, rough against his own, and he bites Shepard’s lower lip sharply. 

Zaeed pulls away, breathing a little heavier than before, “You want to leave, Shepard?” he asks roughly. It would be the responsible thing to do, probably, but his cock is hard enough that he’d have to take care of it himself, anyway, and he might as well get some help with it. Shepard doesn’t respond, just starts pulling his own clothes off and kissing him, kicking his shirt and pants somewhere across the room. He’s naked and tugging at his cock, but Zaeed’s still fully dressed. 

There’s a smart quip somewhere in there about impatient kids, but Shepard ignores it easily enough as he starts working on getting the merc naked. He’s got a nice body, especially for someone twice his age. Tight and muscular with generous hair and tattoos. 

Shepard is taller than him. He’s taller than most humans. He used to hate it, as a kid. Always felt big and awkward and too long. It made blending in and hiding impossible and got him picked on, but now he loves it. The men he’s with go wild for it, just like Zaeed is, pulling him down into a rough kiss and leading him over to the cot.

Shepard’s always been a competitive fuck, and it’s a bit of an odd experience to bed someone who’s not willing to bare their neck to him and spread their legs. The cot’s too small, and both of them almost fall off more than once as they kiss. Zaeed’s got him on his back, and he doesn’t see a way to change that without one of them hitting the floor, so he goes with it. The teeth against his skin, the tongue laving his nipple, feel nice, anyway, and he’s not bothered enough by anything to risk losing the rough hand stroking his dick.

He’s not sure where the lube came from, but Zaeed’s got a slick finger between his legs, teasing at his entrance. He chuckles and grabs his wrist, “I don’t bottom, Old Man,” which, again, isn’t entirely true, Kaidan fucked him plenty of times, but he’d rather get off than rehash his trust issues and heart breaks.

Zaeed’s lips curl up into a smile against his, “Well, neither do I.” 

He wants to fuck him. He wants to fuck into a warm, willing body and shut his eyes tight and pretend it’s Kaidan, but Zaeed doesn’t seem to be budging on the issue. The old man is prepared to drop it, takes Shepard’s hand and wraps it around his cock, content to go back to stroking each other off, but John’s not.

He makes a noise, spreading his legs wider and hoping Zaeed will just understand him.

“What’s that, Pup?” he bites into the flesh of his shoulder, teasing.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” he tangles his hand in his graying hair, pulling him in for another rough kiss. Zaeed seems happy enough to oblige, slipping a lubed finger into him and pressing in harder when he spreads his legs wider and moans. It’s been a long, long time since he’s taken a cock, but Zaeed is being uncharacteristically patient. He takes his time, fingers him almost tenderly, just barely brushing against his prostate. Shepard moans loud at that, lets out a string of expletives and pushes his hips down to get more.

Zaeed’s using a lot of lube. Shepard can feel it dripping down beneath him, pooling under him as he squirms, and the old merc uses even more when he applies some to his length to press into him. Shepard’s ready, impatient to get that thick cock inside of him, but being on his back is too intimate, and he’s too drunk for intimate. Or maybe he’s not drunk enough.

Either way, he pats Zaeed’s ass, “Let me up,” 

The merc is loathe to do it, lets out an impatient groan as he does, his veiny cock is angry and red in his fist. Shepard stands, bends himself over the cot and grabs the edge. His ass is pointed out, and he doesn’t love the feeling of being on display like that, but Zaeed certainly seems to. He’s behind him in an instant, smacking his ass and pawing at it.

“Just fuck me,” he complains into the fabric, grabbing his own cock and stroking roughly.

“You got it,” he pushes himself into him, and Shepard groans as it intrudes his tight body. It burns, a little, but the pressure and the fullness is  _ good _ , and his cock leaks more slickness into his hand. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. Zaeed wraps a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing gently as he advances forward. He’s finally in, Shepard can feel his rough pubes against his ass, and the older man waits, sliding his hand down and bearing down in the middle of his shoulder blades. Shepard pushes his ass back, encouraging him to move, and he does. Zaeed pulls his hips back gently, agonizingly slow, before fucking back in with more force. 

Any tenderness or patience he had before is gone now, replaced by lust as he fucks him with fast, deep strokes. Shepard’s got his face buried in a pillow, breathing open mouthed gasps and moans into the fabric so he doesn’t have to listen to the desperate sounds he makes while he’s being railed. Zaeed doesn’t seem to be bothered by the noise, letting his own groans tumble out roughly and join the sound of their skin slapping together in his small cabin.

Shepard vaguely wonders at the weight limit for this cot. Zaeed probably stresses it by himself, but two grown men crashing into it makes it creak in a way that’s less than reassuring. The merc doesn’t seem to care, though. He’s not slowing down any and Shepard’s not complaining. The thought of being sprawled out on the floor as Zaeed fucks him isn’t all that unappealing, anyway.

For his part, Zaeed is just a rough of a partner as he seemed to be. Shepard’s sure that his hips will have bruises for weeks, both from the merc’s fingertips and from his body weight over his hip bones. Zaeed bites into the meat of his neck again and he’s grateful that his armor comes up so high.

The smack to his ass is far more startling than it is painful, and the burn only fuels his desire as he grips the base of his erection tightly, “Fuck,” Shepard says, rubbing his cheek against the rough fabric, “Do that again.”

“You like that, Pup?” a voice low in his ear, punctuated with another hit. Shepard groans.

“Don’t make me say it,” he means for that to sound like a confident command. It doesn’t. 

Zaeed laughs. It’s almost cruel, but he gives Shepard exactly what he wants. 

He doesn’t want to come yet. He has a feeling that he’ll never live it down if he comes now, whimpering and rutting against Zaeed’s cot like a goddamn teenager. He doesn’t even want to think of the tactical implications of getting railed by someone he’s trying to command in battle.

It was never a problem with Kaidan, but Zaeed has always been a wild card.

He’s coming, he hasn’t even stroked his cock yet, and moaning into the pillow beneath him. His knees feel weak, but rough hands grasp his hips and haul him back upright to keep fucking into him. The grip is tight, bruising, but he grips the edge of the cot harder, groaning as Zaeed’s hips stutter.

Zaeed’s a few moments longer, maybe the impatience of youth has worn off or maybe it’s the patience that comes along with age. To his credit, he doesn’t seem to slow. Shepard is over sensitive and over stimulated after his orgasm, and he doesn’t want to admit that the noises he makes can best be described as whining. Zaeed fucks him all the harder for it, and soon, he’s scraping his fingernails down his back, thrusting in again and letting out a deep moan as he empties deep inside him.

Neither one of them speak for a few moments. The fog of arousal is beginning to lift and be replaced with the sobriety of coming down from a climax. He doesn’t regret it, but his cheeks flush at his current state, and the fact that Zaeed’s hips still feel so hot against his tender flesh. And—worst of all—that he asked to be exactly where he is. 

Shepard normally feels pretty cuddly after sex, and his lovers are usually willing to indulge him. Resting his head against a well-muscled shoulder and hot skin as Zaeed smokes a cigar doesn’t sound like the worst thing, but he’d also like to slink back upstairs and avoid Zaeed’s gaze. He’s still motionless and debating between his two options when Zaeed picks for him.

The pulling out has always been the worst part, and the cold rush of air over his reddened ass is even worse than normal. Zaeed doesn’t say anything as he pads around the cabin to find his pants, so neither does Shepard. Nothing more than a “Thanks,” when Shepard tosses him his shirt.

“Thanks for the drink,” Shepard rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks at the throwing knife target on the wall. 

“Thanks for the company, Commander,” Zaeed coughs. 

Shepard shifts his weight on his feet. It’s still a sore feeling, and more than a little sticky, but it’s far from unpleasant. He sighs, “Sure.”

The walk back up to his cabin is mercifully quiet. He doesn’t think he could handle the dutiful salute of a crew member right now. He’s finally tired enough that he thinks he can achieve sleep—at least for a few hours—and that nagging little voice has shut up for the moment.

He’s not going to be able to look at that picture on his nightstand for a while, but he can’t quite bring himself to put it away, either. He takes the coward’s way out and lays on his other side. 

The smell of cigars still clings to his skin as he lets the nothingness overtake him.   
  



End file.
